Taking Blame
by more-than-words
Summary: "She tries to tell herself that she isn't really sure how it happened. She tries to convince herself that she has no idea how she has ended up on an actual, real-life date with Mike B." Or: Nadine and Mike B are a one-time thing... until they aren't.


Hey! This is a little Nadine/Mike B present for pillar-of-salt, as promised. I really hope you like it x

Any thoughts/comments welcome. Enjoy and thanks for reading! :D

* * *

 **Taking Blame**

 _Breakout Capacity_

She thinks she can blame Conrad Dalton for everything that happens next, because it was the announcement of his win in the state of Ohio that prompted her to grab Mike B up in an enthusiastic, spur of the moment hug, relieved that their prospects of retaining the presidency – and therefore her job with it – are still alive and well.

Or maybe she should blame the Secretary, for being not only the reason Dalton ran as an independent in the first place but also the reason Mike B keeps showing up in her life from time to time.

She figures it's too close to call, and anyway can't dwell on it too deeply because ever since that hug, her conversation with Mike has gone from professional/friendly bickering and banter to professional/friendly bickering and banter coupled with _looks_. She knows she wasn't imagining him inhaling the scent of her hair as she pulled back from their tipsy hug.

And she's not imagining the darkening of his eyes as she laughs at something he's said, her hand resting on his arm for balance because she's both slightly drunk and somewhat giddy, as well a little attracted to the man she's talking to, and it's not a combination of sensations she's used to feeling at the same time.

She leans back against the railing behind her after a moment and surveys the bar. It's starting to empty out now most of the big results are in. People are heading home to bed – many of them with companions they really _shouldn't_ be taking home to bed but, hey, it's election night and so all the rules are out of the window.

Nadine has just enough booze in her system and just enough thrill in her veins from the election results that she can see the merits in chucking all of the rules out the window.

A couple clatters past her and Mike, bumping into them but hardly seeming to notice them standing there as they drunkenly weave their way towards the exit, no doubt on their way to some very ill-advised sex followed in several hours' time by an almighty thumping hangover that will most likely be encompassing the majority of the political class of DC.

Mike B snorts as he watches the couple go and then he looks around at the emptying bar. He fixes Nadine with a look. "So," he says, casually, but there's a hint of intent behind it, "do you wanna get out of here, too?"

Her first instinct is to laugh, to take it as the joke she knows he thinks she'll take it to be. But then she thinks about him standing close to her and about how long it's been since anyone has _been_ close to her, and how actually, when he's not being infuriating, Mike can be very good and insightful company. She's enjoyed their conversation. She likes sparring with him. And the rules don't apply on election night. She regards him coolly, assessing. Then she says, "My place or yours?"

For a moment it looks like his eyes are going to bug out of his head but he gathers himself admirably quickly, stepping into her and sliding an arm around her back and smiling like he's hit the jackpot. "Mine," he says. "Childcare responsibilities."

It takes her a minute to get it. "Gordon?"

"Yep. I'm nothing if not a responsible pet owner."

The way he says it so seriously – the way he _is_ so serious about his responsibilities to his dog – makes her snort with laughter even as it makes her want to get him into bed as soon as possible.

Five minutes later they're in the back of a taxi and she's telling herself that this is a one-time thing, that she's not going to feel anything for this man – even as he's making her feel very, very good indeed.

* * *

It's a one-time thing until, suddenly, it isn't.

* * *

 _The Seventh Floor_

She tries to tell herself that she isn't really sure how it happened. She tries to convince herself that she has no idea how she has ended up on an actual, real-life date with Mike B.

Only trouble is, in reality she knows full well how it happened. In reality, she knows it is entirely her doing.

She had been the one to pick up the phone the evening after he had dropped the act and asked her out simply, sincerely, and she had told him that she'd think about it. She had picked up the phone and called him at home and, when he answered, said without bothering with the etiquette of a greeting, "I've thought about it." Then she had sat back in her office chair and listened to the surprised silence on the other end of the line.

"And?" he had asked after a moment.

"Yes." Then she had hung up the phone and gone home for the night and when she got to the office the next day there was a message on her desk with a time and a date and the name of a restaurant.

And now Nadine Tolliver is at that restaurant on a date with Michael Barnow.

Actually, specifically, she's currently on a date with Mike B, because the man seems to have picked back up the act he had dropped briefly in her office and is presently engaged in a long rant about a disagreement with some senator or other and is practically drowning in his own ego. "Sometimes you've just gotta take the money, you know?" he says, like it's something profound. "There's a place for principle, don't get me wrong, I've been friends with Bess long enough to know that. But sometimes, principle just doesn't get the job done. But you know what does?"

He's driving her crazy, in more ways than one. And he's driving her to drink. Nadine signals the waiter for a refill even as she's still working her way through her current glass of wine; she feels like she can't take the risk of having an empty glass.

She's swallowing a mouthful of good quality red when it hits her.

Mike B is _nervous_.

That's why he's talking a mile a minute and has turned the brash up so far she can practically see the colours of it radiating off him. He was being genuine with her in her office the other day when he was _just Mike_ and he told her that he liked her, she's sure of it. He's not really being the hatchet man now. Right now he's just bullshitting confidence and has verbal diarrhoea. Right now he's nervous of being on a date with her.

Nadine thinks it's rather cute, really. She chuckles to herself at the thought.

"What?" he asks.

She smiles at the man in front of her. "You're sweet." She sips some more wine and watches as a little blush rides its way up his neck and he looks down at his own glass to try to hide it. Then she says, sharply, in the form of an order, "Now cut the crap."

He looks for a moment like he's going to rise to it, like he's going to challenge her like he might in a professional discussion. But then he softens and nods once in acknowledgement and inclines his head as if to say _touché._ He knows he's busted. Then, because he is still Mike B and not all of it is an act, he smiles at her a little naughtily – _just_ a little, it's still early in the evening, after all – and reaches out to nudge her hand with his, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I like it when you order me around."

And yes, she already knows that to be true. Election night spent in his bed had taught her that. Election night spent in his bed had taught her that there's not much he doesn't like, and that she needs to be careful of her feelings when it comes to this man. Not that she's going to admit that to him.

She quirks an eyebrow at him and swallows the last of her wine just as the waiter places a fresh glass at her side. "In that case, don't make me have to murder you during dinner."

She's hoping to keep him alive long enough that he'll be able to ask her to go home with him for the remainder of the night. She can try out some more orders on him then.

* * *

 _Article 5_

She wants to tell herself that Mike is over-reacting, that he has no cause to be as hurt as he does by her taking the information on his dodgy French business interests to the Secretary.

She wants to tell herself that he gets why she did it, that he understands why she had to do it. There was just so much at stake.

She thinks the worst thing about it is that he _does_ actually get it. He understands her first allegiance is to her job, and he likes that about her, mostly; he has a strong allegiance to the Secretary, too.

Her mistake – one of them – had been not to realise how strongly he felt about their own allegiance, the one that they have been cultivating on and off ever since election night and mostly on ever since Mike rather than Mike B asked her out for dinner.

She has been so busy with her job and with not getting herself tangled up too deeply with Mike that she failed to notice how serious he is about her. Was.

How serious he _was_?

Nadine doesn't know anymore.

And so she's sitting in the restaurant where they had their first proper date together, waiting for him to show up. She had earlier slipped a post-it note under his door with a time and the name of the restaurant and the hope that he isn't going to leave her hanging.

She doesn't think he'll stand her up. Because even though he's mad at her and even though she doesn't put it past him to hold a grudge – and viciously hold one, too – she considers him to be a gentleman. And she knows he likes her. She's using that to her advantage.

She's on her second glass of wine when he appears, looking stony-faced as he sits down opposite her and pours himself a glass without saying _hello_.

"Thank you for coming," she says.

"Why did I come?" he asks, and from his tone he could be asking the question of either her or himself, but the way he's looking at her pointedly tells her that he's waiting for an explanation.

Nadine steels herself. It isn't often she finds herself on this side of the table, in her professional life or her personal life. She has been very careful in recent years to avoid situations such as this, where she's the one on the back foot. Where she's the one with something to lose. She decides to get right to the point. Best to get it over with. "I'm sorry I hurt you," she tells him. "That certainly wasn't my intent."

Mike looks like he wants to soften but he holds himself back.

A defence mechanism, she thinks.

He sighs. "Did you not even stop to think –"

"No," she says – admits. She shakes her head. "I didn't. I was doing my job. That's what I was thinking about. And I won't apologise for that." She looks down at her wine glass. "But I will apologise for the consequences. Mike, I'm sorry."

"You said that already," he says, a little cuttingly. Then he looks the slightest bit guilty for his tone. "Why?"

She looks back up at him and frowns. "Why, what?"

"Why are you apologising to me?"

She doesn't get it at first. Wonders why he doesn't understand. Surely he knows why she's apologising? She likes him and she upset him and she wants to see him again and so she's saying sorry. It's obvious.

Then she thinks: maybe it isn't.

It's not like she's really told him much of what she thinks about him, and even less of how she _feels_ , outside of how good he makes her feel in the bedroom. That has been a deliberate move on her part, to try to prevent herself from getting burned.

Look what has happened anyway. They've both been burned, now.

Nadine gathers her resolve and her backbone. She swallows. "Because I like you," she says, matter-of-factly, like she's discussing with him a policy proposal, because it's the only way she can do this. "And I like what we have, and I don't want that to go away." She closes her eyes for a moment. "I don't want _you_ to go away. Unless you want to. In which case, be my guest." She can't help but put at least part of the onus back on him. Habits die hard.

When she looks back at Mike he has a soft smile on his face and an expression like he's maybe slightly… _awed_? Like hearing her admit that she actually likes him has made his goddamn day.

The thought makes her feel good, makes her feel better after feeling so much guilt ever since he had called her out for not taking her intelligence to him rather than the Secretary. But that thought makes her feel bad all over again. She qualifies her statement: "But, Mike, I meant what I said before. My first allegiance is to my job, to the Secretary."

"You can't even call her Elizabeth when you're off duty?" He doesn't mean anything by the statement, that much is clear – it's just something nice and playfully-goading to say to let her know that they might not yet be completely okay but her apology is under due and careful consideration and he's not about to walk out the door on her.

But it raises an important point that Nadine can't let pass. She smiles ruefully and gives a self-deprecating chuckle. "I'm never off duty."

There's silence for a moment and then some of the familiar Mike B swagger re-enters his posture as he simultaneously leans back in his chair and reaches out to take her hand. "OK, I'd be lying if I said that isn't a little bit hot." He grins, swilling some wine and making a game of it now that he's seemingly decided to forgive her. "We could have some fun with that, you know, when we get back to mine later. You can be the dedicated workaholic and I can be the passionate rogue and – "

"Mike," she cuts him off, laughing at his boyish enthusiasm, "that's already what we are."

A soft and genuine smile flickers over his lips. "All the best stories have truth in them."

His fingers flex in hers.

She returns his smile and holds on tight.


End file.
